


Resolution of the Past

by snarky_fangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case solving, Creepy, Demons, Dreams, Gen, Japanese Culture, Knives, Mark of Cain, Masks, Men of Letters, Original Female Character - Freeform, Purgatory, season 10, the bunker, very very mild language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_fangirl/pseuds/snarky_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trying to find more information on the Mark of Cain, a mysterious box shows up on the Bunker's front porch. As the Winchesters try to figure out what it means, a menacing presence lurks in the shadows...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a few weeks since their last hunt, and even then it was just a run-of-the-mill werewolf attack. Cas was usually off doing angel business, but he tried to stop in and check on Dean and help Sam conduct research on finding anything involving the Mark of Cain. The Winchesters’ days consisted mostly of waking up, drinking cheap coffee, and then either sitting in front of a computer or sorting through files upon files in the Archives. Dean looked up every translation of the Bible and other religious texts he could find on the internet. He poured hundreds of scanned images of ancient scrolls written in Hebrew, which was terribly unhelpful to someone who hadn’t passed high school Spanish, let alone become an expert in ancient Hebrew.

Really, it was all pointless.

One Tuesday afternoon, after a few hours of skimming through countless databases and off-color websites (even Sam had to admit that “Jesus is the Supreme Alien Leader” was a bit of a stretch), the older Winchester closed his laptop and let out a disgruntled sigh. “Well this is getting friggin’ ridiculous. You’d think that someone at some point in time would have wanted to know about this,” he waved a hand in the general direction of his right arm. Dean stood up and walked around the table, passing a hand through his hair.

Sam sighed tersely in agreement and looked up from the small book he had been reading. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and the worry lines on his forehead seemed deeper than usual. “I don’t know, Dean. Maybe there’s nothing on the Mark because Cain didn’t want anyone to know about it, to keep it as some exclusive Knight of Hell secret from the rest of the world. There’s just nothing out there, or at least nothing that we’ve looked at so far.” He took a sip from the white cup in front of him, pulled a face at the long-cold coffee, and set it back down. “So what should we do now?"

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna go get us some food. What do you want? Pizza? Tacos? There’s a new Italian restaurant in town that has these awesome little cannolis. I could pick up some of those and make spaghetti here.” Dean’s eyes lighted up thinking about all the many food options available to them.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Anything sounds good at this point,” Sam half-smiled at his big brother. Knowing that whatever Dean made would be delicious, Sam turned his attention back to his books.

Dean hadn’t been gone for fifteen minutes before Sam suddenly heard him call out, “Hey, uh, Sammy? Did you order anything off of Amazon?”

Sam looked up, confused. “Um, no. Why?” He stood up and walked towards Dean’s voice, which had come from the main stairway. He saw Dean step down the stairs holding a medium sized cardboard box in both hands. They both stared at it with an expression of confusion, suspicion and curiosity. “What’s that?” Sam asked.

“This, little brother, was sitting on our front porch. No note, no ‘Return to Sender’ label, nothing. I had just pulled out of the garage when I saw it.” Dean set the box down on the table in the study. “You didn’t get me a really late birthday present this year, did you, Sammy?”

Sam responded with his typical “Stop Being Such an Idiot” look and then asked, “Who would send us a package, let alone even know where we are? Cas doesn’t exactly need to use the post office. Mrs. Tran hasn’t talked to us in months, plus I’m pretty sure she’s still mad at us about Kevin. Anyone else would’ve just called us, not drop off their crap. What d’you think is in here?” He picked up the box, which was surprisingly light, and shook it a bit. Something rustled softly inside.

“Only one way to find out,” Dean said as he reached for the knife on his belt. Cutting open the packaging tape and pulling out wads of crinkled newspaper, they looked inside.

It was a mask.  
Pure white, the exaggerated eyebrows furrowed into a scowl over two empty holes where there were supposed to be eyes. A large nose pointing downwards rested between the cheekbones, which were also inhumanly large. Its dark, twisted, red mouth gaped open, baring golden teeth. The upper canines extended beyond the mouth that gave it a disturbing smile. Two large gold horns rose up from the top of the mask. Under each eye were red smudges, as if brushed there with a delicate finger. Resting in the shadows amidst the old faded newspaper, the mask almost looked like it was laughing up at the Winchesters.

“Well that’s... unsettling,” Dean said after a moment.

Sam huffed in agreement. “Looks like some kind of Japanese kabuki mask.” Dean started reaching into the box to pull it out when Sam grabbed his wrist. “I, uh, wouldn’t do that quite yet. Might be a cursed object or something.” Dean quickly jerked his hand out of Sam’s grip and away from the box, looking even more uncomfortable.

After a quick visit to the kitchen and a rock-paper-scissor fight over who got the only pair of yellow rubber cleaning gloves (Dean grumbled at his bulky, tattered pair of red oven mitts), they returned to the study. Sam carefully picked up the mask examined it.

“Well, there’s no writing or sigils on the back of it, so no help there.” He brought it closer to his face. A strange and pungent odor wafted over him, like smoky incense mingled with decay. “Ugh, yeah, that’s smells awful,” Disgusted, he set the mask down on a piece of flattened out newspaper.

“I dunno, man, this is weird.” Dean reached out and slid the mask across the table towards him. “Who would just send us a mask without some kind of note? Is this for a hunt? Do we need to lock it up?” He picked it up the best he could while wearing the awkward mitts and turned it over. It was heavier than it looked. Something crept into the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite get a hold of what it meant. Dean set the mask back down with a soft thud, a little more unsettled than before.

Sam pursed his lips, thinking. “I guess we’ll have to start calling around, see what we can dig up. You do that and I’ll get started on the research. I swear I’ve seen something like this before...” The younger Winchester muttered as he walked out of the room.

For the rest of the night Dean conducted every test he could think of to see whether the mask was cursed or not. After deciding it was clean, he contacted some hunters who might have an idea on what to do with a harmless, albeit creepy, mask. Sam occupied himself with pouring over webpages and databases on his laptop, surrounded by large, open books and files from the Men of Letters’ archives. Any hopes of a proper dinner had long been forgotten, and they settled on leftover macaroni and cheese.

“Alright, thanks Tommy.” Dean hung up his phone and sighed loudly, frustrated. “Well, Tommy’s got nothing. And Georgia was out on a hunt, so I couldn’t get a hold of her. You find out anything on Happy Face over there?” Dean got up, stretching his tired limbs.

“Uh, yeah, actually. C’mere.” Sam turned his laptop towards Dean. On the screen were images and drawings of masks similar to theirs, some blood red, others with golden eyes. “It’s called a hannya. It’s sometimes used in certain Japanese plays to represent a demon.”  

Dean scowled. “What kind of demon?”

Sam clicked on another tab and read out loud, “‘Said to be demonic and dangerous, the hannya represents women whose souls had been twisted due to jealousy or obsession’.” An image of a woman surrounded by falling cherry blossoms with her hair pulled back into a bun was wearing a mask similar to theirs, though its features were less exaggerated and menacing. Sam continued, “But get this. While I was sorting through files in the Archives on the Mark, I came across this.” He handed a thin file up to Dean.

“‘Tribal Marks, Curses and Other Artifacts and Their Lasting Affects’.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked at his brother and then opened it. He frowned. “Not a lot in here, is there?” he said while picking up a small scrap of paper with scrawled handwriting.

“I’m guessing Abaddon got to the Man of Letters who was working on this before he could finish it. But do you recognize one of those pictures?”

Dean sorted through the handful of photos until he held up a faded, yellowed picture. Resting on a pedestal was the mask. Even without color, it made a striking image. The mouth seemed more twisted and menacing. Its dark, empty eyes stared directly into the camera. Yet something seemed different...

“Aren’t there supposed to be smudges underneath both eyes?”

Sam frowned. “Uh, yeah, there are. Why d’you ask?”

Dean handed him the picture, saying, “ ‘Cuz there’s only one here in this picture.”

Sure enough, there was only one dark stroke underneath the left eyehole.

“Something must have happened to it between now and whenever this picture was taken.” Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Which means...”

“Which means someone else has been playing around with this mask,” Dean finished. Dropping the file on the table, he counted off, “So we know that this thing’s not cursed, the Men of Letters were into it, and it’s associated with demons. Plus there’s whatever’s going on with those markings. Yeah, this does a whole lot of help for my nerves.”

“At least it’s some kind of a lead. Now that we kind of know what to look for, things should go a little easier. We just need to look up a couple of...” Sam looked behind Dean’s shoulder over at the opposite table. His back stiffened.

“Um, Dean. Where’s the mask?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a completely random note, I credit Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask as inspiration for this. And I listen to Theophany's Majora's Mask OST remix as I write, so I do recommend you listen to some of that as you read this (particularly "Majora's Mask" and "Majora's Wrath"). (I'm not in anyway sponsored by, paid by, etc. by Theophany; I just love their work!).

Dean twisted around and quickly stood up. It was true. There were only the pairs of gloves and some newspaper. No mask in sight.

“Dammit.” In a few long strides Dean reached the table before Sam. He checked in the box, moved the newspaper, and then looked down at the floor. He glanced over at Sam, bent forward, and said, “You really shouldn’t scare a man like that, Sammy.” Dean straightened up, looking slightly exasperated. In his right hand was that white face, its mouth still frozen into a cruel laugh. “The thing just fell off the table.” Dropping it onto the newspaper left an aching feeling in Dean. The mask suddenly seemed less treacherous, less sinister. Dean felt like it was trying to reach out to him... Or maybe... He resisted the urge to grip at the Mark.

Sam narrowed his eyes slightly, noting the strange look that briefly crossed Dean’s face. His eyes flicked back and forth between Dean and the mask. Sam shook his head. “I’m telling you it was sitting there a minute ago. And neither one of us has touched it within the past hour. So how could it have just fallen off?”

“Maybe you remembered wrong. Maybe it was close to the edge, and you happened to be stomping past it. Either way, the thing’s creepy enough as it is, so there’s no point in making it scarier than it needs to be. Okay?” Dean’s voice was steady and firm, but Sam recognized that tone. He was nervous.  
Knowing there was no point in arguing, Sam glanced back at the white and gold face staring up at the ceiling. From where he was standing, the mask was no longer grinning or laughing, but scowling and yelling; the lips made the teeth look like they were lined with blood. The pounding headache behind Sam’s left eye got worse.

This was not going to be fun.

 

Despite Dean’s initial excuses for the mask’s unexplainable fall, the hunters kept a wary eye on it for the next couple of days. They made sure it stayed in the study on the same table when they left, but it was never in exactly the same spot: it would be a few inches to the right when Sam came in with some more books; whenever Dean entered the room carrying another box of files the face would always be facing towards him; one time as they were eating dinner, the mask was hidden in the shadows next to a bookcase. It never left the study, though. It was always there, waiting.

After digging up as much information as he could on _hannyas_ , Sam moved on to their own personal “demon”. He opened up the thin “Tribal Marks” file and laid out every scrap of paper and photograph neatly on the table. The photos were of various sizes and showed different subjects: the _hannya_ , of course; a curved dagger with jewels in the hilt forming some kind of Enochian sigil; a small, thin child blindfolded and tied to a chair; and a simple clay jar with no markings or signs. Concentrating with brows furrowed, Sam picked up the _hannya_ ’s picture. Satisfied that nothing had changed since he last checked, he looked at the back of it. Penciled in neat cursive was a brief note: “ _Japan, 1956. Mask ca. 1500’s. Kurosawa Family? Marcus Webber._ ”

“Marcus Webber...” Sam muttered. He checked the back of all the rest of the pictures, and each were labeled with “M.W.”. The same handwriting was also scrawled over the pieces of yellowed paper. Sam slumped back into his chair and then flipped open his laptop. A quick Internet search later, he came across a newspaper article dating from September 1956:

“SEARCH STILL ON FOR LOCAL MAN. Marcus Webber, aged 34, went missing last week after an anonymous tip was reported to the Papen County Sheriff’s Office stating Mr. Webber never returned to his apartment. His family, residing in Kentucky, commented that they have not heard from him in several years and are very worried. Webber volunteered at the local museum and contributed several rare specimens from the Far East. If you see or learn anything concerning Mr. Webber, please contact...”

At the bottom of the page was a poorly scanned image of a lanky man with his arms crossed leaning against a 1950s Cadillac.

Sam searched for another half-hour to see if he could come up with any more news on Webber. Nothing. _I’m getting really tired of these dead-ends,_ he thought. He checked the time on his watch; 2:16 AM. It had been far too long since his last cup of coffee, and Sam couldn’t even recall if he had dinner or not. Deciding it was time for a break, Sam got up, stretched, and glanced over to make sure the mask hadn’t gone anywhere. Strangely enough, it hadn’t even moved an inch. He eyed it cautiously as he walked past, meeting its empty stare. Sam was still anxious about having those dark eyes follow him everywhere. He’d certainly had his fair share of black eyes and demons in the Bunker. _I just want to be rid of this thing and get back to the Mark._

Sam worked his way through the halls to the kitchen. He was a little surprised not to find Dean in there as well, grabbing a light snack or brewing his own cup of coffee. He hadn’t heard from Dean in a few hours, actually. _Maybe he actually is sticking to the whole ‘healthy lifestyle’ routine and went to bed at a decent hour._ Sam half-smiled at the thought, even if the odds of it were low. He opened up a drawer to his left and pulled out the box of coffee filters.

_Clink-thud_

Sam spun around and scanned the kitchen. It was empty.

“Dean?” There was no response.

A lifetime of training told Sam to keep calm. The pounding headache had settled into his left temple, making it difficult to focus. He slowly turned back to the coffee maker. Pushing the “Start” button, he watched as the dark liquid slowly dripped into the pot and gradually became a steady stream. Sam passed both hands over his face, exhaustion settling in.

_Clink-clink, Clang_

This time Sam pulled out his gun, aiming it at the source of the noise to his right. Several pots and pans hanging above the counter on the other side of the kitchen gently swayed back and forth. The hunter breathed in deeply through his nose. It was getting harder to keep his heart rate steady.

_Ding_

Sam jumped. Embarrassed, he realized it was just the coffee maker signaling it was finished. He opened the cabinet in front of him and grabbed a white cup. He started pouring. A prickly feeling crept up the back of his neck. He set the coffee pot down. Something flashed just barely outside of his peripheral vision. His breathing became more erratic.

_Clang, Clang-clink, THUD_

A drawer slammed shut close to his left hand. Sam’s eyes were instantly drawn to the hanging cookware. They were now clanging against each other as if a heavy wind had passed through. A few pans fell off of their hooks onto the granite countertop.

Frantically searching the kitchen, Sam pointed his gun everywhere, anywhere. _Where the hell is Dean?_ Sam had a hard time believing that Dean could sleep through all this noise. Unless whatever was in here found Dean first. His chest constricted.

“Dean! Get in here quick! Dea-”

It was behind him. He could feel it boring into his back. Taking one last deep breath, Sam whipped around and faced it. He took a half-step back, gun raised.

The mask was upright with nothing supporting it. The soft glow from the fluorescent light made the golden horns and canines seem longer, sharper. Hollow, empty eyes were hidden beneath the shadows cast from its angular eyebrows. The gold colors seemed dull and lifeless, yet the dark red of the mouth and two streaks under the eyes appeared more vibrant, as if they were freshly painted. The mouth extended even wider into a threatening scream. Surrounding the mask in a perfect semi-arc were knives: glistening, sharp steel knives ranging from hefty cleavers to a simple butter knife. All were pointed directly at Sam.

The knives quivered for a moment and then _whip!_ They flew at Sam’s face. Without even thinking, the tall hunter ducked and rolled out of the way, but not before a small steak knife nicked him on the cheek. Sam stood up, ran, with more knives rushing past him, and slammed the kitchen door behind him. He put all his weight against it, chest heaving. The cut on his cheek was starting to sting.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Sam nearly sprained a tendon from turning his head so fast. Dean was wearing his grey bathrobe, bare-footed and hair tousled. His tired expression quickly became dark and concerned once he noticed the small trail of blood on Sam’s face. The younger Winchester returned his look with exasperation mingled with anger.

“I was almost chopped up by that damn mask, Dean! Where’ve you been?”

Dean, looking just as worn out as Sam felt, frowned and said, “We need to talk.”


	3. Chapter 3

While Sam was going through files and websites in the Bunker’s library, Dean sorted through substantial piles of boxes and folders in his room. That seemed to be the only place anymore where he could think clearly and find some peace of mind. Dirty plaid shirts laid in crumpled piles, and several beer bottles peaked out from beneath the nightstand. Dean sat in the midst of it on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed. The only source of light came from a lamp in the corner, casting a soft yellow glow on the grey walls. Dean lost track of how long he sat there, trying to find some kind of information on the _hannya_. Unfortunately, he was not as lucky as his younger brother. Slamming a large musty book shut, Dean got to his feet and stretched. His stomach growled, and a sharp pain kept stabbing into the top of his neck. All in all, Dean wasn’t very satisfied with his evening.  
  
He waded his way through the sea of papers and books to get to the door. Right as he turned the door knob, exhaustion and vertigo overcame him. He could barely keep his eyes open. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean turned around and grumbled, “Ten minute nap. And then I find some food.” He changed into a pair of comfortable sweat pants and put on his “Dead Guy” robe. The room was cooler than usual, and Dean wanted some extra warmth. Plus he enjoyed the soft fabric on his skin. He took two large steps over a stack of folders and then collapsed onto his bed...

...There were vamps everywhere. One, maybe two leviathans. A werewolf howled from deep within the woods. Dean was severely outnumbered. Standing his ground, he looked for an escape route. He hated backing down from a fight, but staying would be downright stupid. He rubbed a thumb over the worn leather handle of his weapon. An opening formed to the right. He licked his dry, cracked lips. One of the vampires chuckled and smiled at her companions, ravenous looks in their eyes. Adrenaline surged through Dean as he feinted an attack to his left, and then he ran. He ran as fast as he could, never looking back.  
  
Of course, there’s nowhere to run in Purgatory.  
  
The hunter vaulted over a log, rolling on the ground, and continued running, never losing momentum. Branches scratched at his face, gnarled roots tried tripping him, but he never stopped. He couldn’t. From the corner of his eye he saw a dark shape leap towards him, one of the male vampires. Dean cut off its head in one clean movement. His heart pounded, blood rushing to his ears. A leviathan snuck up from behind and knocked him to the ground. Dean gagged at the awful stench coming from the gaping mouth full of teeth. They struggled and rolled in the dirt and leaves. Finally Dean managed to get on top of it and cut off its head as well. He stood up, ready for any more attackers, but nothing ever came.  
  
Dean grinned, relishing in the freedom, the purity he found in this world. Looking down at the knife gripped in his hand, Dean watched as a drop of black ooze slid down the obsidian edge. Except it wasn’t his jagged knife anymore; it had changed into a dirty brown color. The sharp edges had morphed into an inelegant curve with teeth lining one side.  
  
The First Blade.  
  
An incredible surge of power and darkness flowed through Dean, feeding off of his joy from killing. The hunter shuddered and let go of the jawbone. He stepped backwards, terrified, never taking his eyes off of it laying in the dirt. He started running again. Everything was now moving slower, like he was wading through thick mud. Dean’s breathing became more labored. Sounds and images came unbidden and burned into his mind... _Kneeling over Abaddon as he stabbed her dead body over and over again, blood staining his hands. He liked it... Hearing Crowley’s distant voice beckoning, encouraging him to embrace this new life... Stalking his brother through the halls of the Bunker. He was gonna kill Sammy so slowly... “Your very existence sucked the life out of my life...”_ No matter how long Dean ran, he could never escape these memories.  
  
The forest became darker and more dense the farther he went into it. Mist swirled all around Dean. He soon arrived at an unfamiliar clearing (strange considering how long Dean had wandered through Purgatory) and saw a lone figure. It was wearing a dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up and faded jeans, looking away from Dean and into the dark abyss of the forest. The tall, blonde-haired person started to turn around. Dean knew who it was and desperately wanted to start running away from it. From himself.  
  
But instead of seeing black eyes and that devilish grin, the figure grew smaller, more slender. The red shirt lengthened into a red kimono with a white sash. Limp, oily black hair hung past the shoulders. What startled Dean the most, however, was its face. A young woman with deep and bloody cuts on her cheeks smiled at him, looking ravenous and manic. Her deathly pale skin contrasted with the dark, blueish circles beneath heavy-lidded eyes. Dean couldn’t tell if she was wearing a dark shade of lipstick or if it was blood that lined her lips. She stared at Dean for a moment and then smiled. It grew wider and wider, exposing brilliant white teeth. Her eyes turned pitch black, and a pair of horns emerged from her forehead. Dean blinked, startled. Her entire face was now hidden beneath a mask. He recognized it immediately.  
  
He was standing before the spirit of the _hannya_.  
  
Dean tried to run, move his arms, anything, but it was impossible. Something was keeping him there. The demonic spirit took small, calculating step towards him. She extended her left hand and pointed at his arm. Frigid air brushed past Dean, nearly choking him with the strong scent of cherry blossoms and sulfur. Her porcelain hand tenderly touched Dean’s face, almost lovingly. The _hannya_ cocked its head.  
  
“I have finally found you,” it whispered. That hideous smile moved closer. He futilely tried pulling away. Drawing her hand back, the woman then reached behind her head and took off the mask. Slowly and deliberately, she raised it up towards Dean’s face.  
  
A searing white-hot pain erupted from the Mark of Cain. Dean’s heart was pounding. The spirit’s words rang loudly in his mind, mixing with his memories as a demon. Splintered wood and darkness consumed his field of vision. A mirthful, treacherous laugh came from the woman. Right before the mask touched his skin, he screamed out one word...  
  
_”Sam!”_  
  
Dean shot up from his bed, drenched in sweat and out of breath. He searched all around his room trying to get his bearings back. The lamp was still turned on in the corner, books and papers sprawled across the floor. He let his head drop back and hit the wall. The strange exhaustion had passed, but his limbs felt like he had just run a grueling marathon. Dean looked at the clock. 2:21 AM. It had only been a few hours. He grumbled and rubbed both hands over his face. _I need a drink_ , he thought, swinging both legs over to the side of the bed. Just as he was about to stand up, a sharp, burning pain erupted from his right forearm. Wincing, he looked down at the Mark. It had turned a dark, vibrant red. Remembering what the _hannya_ said, Dean grew even more tired and worried. “I need a _lot_ of drinks.”  
  
This was all Dean focused on as he headed towards the Bunker’s kitchen. He got there just in time to see Sam quickly run out of the kitchen and slam the door. The tall hunter was panting and looked terrified. Dean scowled, having a strong hunch of what just happened. He tried to keep his voice neutral as he asked, “Hey, what’s going on?”

~~~~~

Beers in hand ten minutes later, they sat around the table in the Study. Dean had listened patiently as Sam related his experience, not saying a word and nodding occasionally. Sam, however, was more vocal about Dean’s dream.  
  
“What the hell, Dean? First this mask tries to fillet me, and now it’s what, reaching out to you? ‘I have finally found you’? What’s that supposed to mean? And the fact that it attacked me as soon as I learned about Marcus Webber looks like it doesn’t want us to learn what happened to him. And we still have no idea how it even showed up here!” Sam took a long swig of beer, thinking. “Did anything else happen in that dream?” He stared hard at Dean, pursing his lips tightly.  
  
Dean hesitated. He had “conveniently” left out a few details surrounding his memories as a demon and the Mark. He hated talking about that kind of stuff with Sam. He hated himself enough for having said and done those things. But if they wanted to solve this anytime soon, he should probably fess up. Dean stared at the half-empty bottle in front of him.  
  
“Yeah, uh, there is something else.” He locked eyes with his little brother for a moment and then looked away. He could feel Sam’s worried, puppy-dog eyes boring into him. “It’s the Mark,” Dean finally said. He sensed Sam stiffen. “Ever since I first touched the mask, it’s, uh, been burning like crazy and only getting worse.” He rubbed the arm of his bathrobe over the scar, hoping its coolness would help soothe the dull throbbing. It didn’t. “I dunno, man, but whenever I get close to that thing I just...” He paused and looked back up at Sam. “It’s not good.”  
  
Sam, swallowing hard and nodding, simply said, “Okay. So this thing’s gotta go. I’ll look up some exorcisms and see if we can finally get rid of the damned thing. In the mean time, we’ll just have to keep our eyes open.” He stood up and pointed a finger at Dean with a smile twitching at his lips. “And don’t go putting it on and jumping at me from around the corner.” It was a terrible attempt at trying to lighten the mood, but he did get a hint of a smile from his big brother.  
  
Finding the right exorcism was a lot easier than Sam expected. He knew he had seen one somewhere, but after scouring through three different tomes on Japanese lore he finally remembered where to look. Lifting up a hefty pile of books, Sam grabbed the “Tribal Marks” file. He shifted through the scraps of paper until he read in Webber’s neat handwriting, _“Spell of Banishment”_ at the top of one of the larger notes. Small Japanese characters filed down the rest of the page, and alongside them Webber had written the equivalent English pronunciations. Sam had no problem reading Japanese, but he appreciated any effort to help with the phonetics. Shoving the piece of paper into his pocket, he rushed to find Dean. The older Winchester thought it would be best if he kept watch at the kitchen door since they both assumed the mask was still in there. Neither one really wanted to go in and check for sure.  
  
Sam allowed himself to get excited. Ridding themselves of this demonic mask meant that they could finally get back to solving the Mark. And as it turns out, if the _hannya_ and the Mark were somehow related, the sooner that thing was taken care of the better. Sam thought back to what Dean had said about the _hannya_ ’s spirit reaching out to Dean. Or was it to the Mark? At this point, Sam didn’t care. His big brother had enough to worry about. Sam was going to make sure nothing more would happen, whether it involved the mask, the Mark, anything. No matter what.  
  
Sam found Dean asleep on the floor. As a precautionary measure the older Winchester had poured a thick line of salt in front of the door. His head was slumped onto his chest, moving up and down slowly with each breath. Sam paused for a moment, torn between knowing Dean needed the rest and wanting to get this _hannya_ business over with. He knew how stupid it was to touch a man whose lethal reflexes would kick in at being suddenly touched. Instead, Sam squatted down arm’s length away and said, “Hey, Dean. Wake up. I got it.”  
  
“Hm, what?” Dean slurred out, rubbing at his tired eyes with the back of his hand. “Y’found somethin’?”  
  
“Yeah, a banishment spell Webber wrote down. C’mon, let’s do this so you don’t have to sleep in the hallway anymore.”  
  
Dean extended a hand to Sam and they pulled each other up. He nodded his head towards the kitchen door. “We gonna do it in there or somewhere with less knives to carve you up?”  
  
Sam cinched his mouth the the side. “Let’s take it to the basement. There are enough demon traps and wardings down there to stop it from doing any serious harm.” He scratched near the cut on his cheek. “Probably.”  
  
Dean huffed in agreement and pulled out his gun. Sam did the same. With his left hand Dean slowly turned the doorknob. Looking over at his little brother, he mouthed _One...Two..._ He quickly opened the door. The lights were still on, Sam’s cup of coffee was sitting next to the coffee maker, and knives were littered all across the floor.  
But no mask in sight.  
  
“Great, we lost it,” Dean muttered. Sam sagged his shoulders. Dean was about to close the door when something caught his eye.  
  
“Woah!”  
  
In the middle of the open doorway, the _hannya_ stared up at the both of them, mischievously grinning as if it has just won a game of hide-and-seek.  
  
“Okay, now what?” Sam asked through gritted teeth, his gun pointed at the mask and not daring to look away. Now that it had come to this, he realized that actually moving the _hannya_ might cause a few problems. Sam would likely get attacked again, or else Dean would have to touch it, which could spell trouble for everyone. Either way, they were dumb and hadn’t fully thought out their plan.  
  
As if reading Sam’s mind, Dean replied, “I say we skip the basement and just take care of it right here. Sound good to you?” A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. He could almost see the young woman smiling up at him. _Dammit_. Those black eyes stared right back at him, following his every move. The Mark weighed down on his arm. Dean scowled even deeper, trying to block out the dark murmurings swirling through his mind. The grip on his gun loosened for a moment.  
  
Sam quickly pulled out the crumpled note with one hand. Dean’s change of demeanor wasn’t lost on him. They had to get this done. Fast. He flattened the paper on his upper thigh and took a deep breath. With a slight waver in his voice he read, “Kyo wa dainan shichi-nan akunan sainan kyonan...”  
  
The kitchen lights started to flicker. Shadows lengthened on the mask, its grin morphing into a crimson snarl. The temperature in the hallway dropped below thirty degrees. Sam hesitated when he saw Dean wince and his breathing become slightly more labored. Still locked in a staring contest with the _hannya_ , Dean nodded briskly, letting Sam know to continue anyway.  
  
“...Kuze sakuze no sainan hi no sainan...”  
  
Pots and pans started to shake and rattle, the knives vibrated threateningly on the tiled floor. Several hallway lights exploded, sparks and glass shards flying everywhere. Blood pounded in Dean’s ears, and the Mark burned with a fury that scared him. It was nearly impossible to hear Sam’s determined voice over the noise. But the young Winchester kept going, sounding more confident with each stanza.  
  
“...Harai tamae kiyome tamae, kami wa sagari nobori sagari kudari...”  
  
Sam was now shouting over the cacophony. He never stumbled or mispronounced a single syllable. The mask started to vibrate. All the shadows violently flashing across its face made it look like the red lips were moving, trying to perform its own twisted spell. The long, sharp horns thrusted up and down in the flickering light. But even in the darkness Dean could feel those black eyes boring into him. His entire right arm throbbed and burned from the Mark, permeating into every nerve. He couldn’t keep his gun steady for much longer.  
  
“Sammy, hurry up!”  
  
“...Mi-kisen, mi-kinen, mi-kito to uyamatte moshi tatematsuru!”  
  
With the final word a terrifying, high-pitched shriek rent through the air. There was an electrical surge causing the kitchen lights to go brighter and then shut off. A hollow _thud!_ of wood dropping onto tile, and everything became silent. The Winchesters stood in complete darkness, panting. Dean dropped his gun and gripped at his forearm, though it was now only a dull, empty ache. The darkness in his mind had finally dissipated.  
  
The back-up lights kicked on, casting everything in a dim red light. Sam walked over to the _hannya_ , which was laying flat on the ground. Despite the eerie lighting it now looked simply how it was supposed to: a harmless, faded hunk of wood. Kicking it gingerly with the toe of his boot, Sam shrugged. “I think that may have actually worked.” He smiled at Dean, feeling more relieved than he’d felt in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The exorcism Sam reads is actually one I found after a quick google search. So I tried to be fairly legitimate here!  
> Thanks for reading and being patient with me for taking a while with this chapter! The next one will be up shortly, as well. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Things got quiet around the Bunker again. No more creepy masks followed them around, no more prickly feelings ran up their necks. The banishing spell had worked. They decided to put the _hannya_ in a lock-box and keep it safe in their basement, but not without some reservations.  
  
“Tell me again why we’re not burning this friggin’ thing?” Dean hefted a medium-sized metal box onto the Study’s table. White markings covered both the inside and outside.  
  
“Because Dean,” Sam said while picking up the mask and gingerly setting it inside, “the Men of Letters took an interest in it. We may want to go back one day and study it. Plus there’s the whole idea of ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’.”  
  
“Yeah, well, if Ms. Kabuki starts floating around in my dreams again, the both of us are gonna come after you and will tell you where you can shove all your studying.”  
  
Dean was more than happy to drop the subject and go back to surfing the Internet for a new case or even more information on the Mark. Sam, however, wasn’t so sure. He continued looking for anything involving Marcus Webber and the _hannya_.  
  
“Webber had just been initiated the year before he disappeared,” Sam told Dean a few days later over a lunch of chicken and rice enchiladas. “But, get this, he had a mentor named James Haggerty.”  
  
Dean swallowed a large bite. “Okay. And did this Haggerty guy have anything to say about demon masks or Webber?” He resisted the urge to chew out his nerdy brother for bringing up finished business while they ate.  
  
“He kept a journal and mentions Webber a few times. Here,” Sam pulled out a small leather-bound journal from his back pocket and tossed it towards Dean. “Turn to August 25th.”  
  
Dean flipped through the pages and then read out loud, “Marcus has become obsessed with his research. I do think he’s found something with the Japanese _hannya_ , though. Unfortunately Marcus won’t tell me what he’s planning anymore. He just locks himself up in his room, researching.” Dean stopped, giving Sam a “Please tell me there’s a point to all this” look.  
  
Sam said, “Keep reading.”  
  
Dean took another bite of his enchilada and then continued, “But he told me something today. ‘Haggerty, I think I finally cracked it. Give me a week, and then I’ll explain everything!’ I don’t know what he could be talking about. There is something evil with that mask, far more dangerous than either of us realize. I keep telling him to slow down, that the world will not burn in hellfire if he takes a moment to think and plan things out. But the foolish boy won’t listen. There are so many new initiates these days, so eager to please and prove their worth. All it does is get them killed, or worse.” Dean closed the book, frowning.  
  
“Webber went missing just a few days after this. So whatever he discovered about the mask must have gone south.” Sam took a large bite, an excited glint in his eye.  
  
“Okay, but we already kinda knew that. Is there anything more in here about what might have happened to him?”  
  
“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Sam said, getting defensive. “I’m just trying to follow every lead we’ve got on the mask, Dean. I only found this journal earlier today and wanted to tell you about it.” He reached over and snatched the book away from Dean’s hands.  
  
Dean held out his hands innocently. “Alright, I’m sorry. I just don’t see the point of researching the Men of Letters side of things if they’ve got nothing. Didn’t you say Webber thought the _hannya_ was connected to some family? The Kawasaki’s or something?”  
  
“The Kurosawa family,” Sam corrected. He then looked a little uncomfortable. “And yeah, I was planning on looking into that later.” He quickly stuffed a chunk of chicken into his mouth.  
  
Dean smiled, proud of himself for making Mr. Stanford Education realize he overlooked something so important.  
  
After they finished eating, Sam pulled out his laptop and got to researching. Dean followed suit, checking up on local news and events. They sat there quietly for a while.  
  
“Hey, I’ve got something.”  
  
Sam’s pensive face peered over the computer at Dean. “What is it?”  
  
Dean picked up his laptop, walked over to Sam, and showed him the screen. A teenaged girl beamed up at them from beneath the headline “COMMUNITY MOURNS TRAGIC KILLINGS”. Sitting down next to his brother, Dean started, “Kimmy Loggins, only child of Martha and Patrick. Good kid. Two days ago their neighbor sees Kimmy come home, pull out a butcher knife, and go on a rampage, killing both parents.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Okay. So what makes you think this is in our wheelhouse?”  
  
“The neighbor says that Kimmy then smiled through the window right at her, covered in blood, and vanished. The girl hasn’t been seen since. And the police say there are ‘satanic markings written on the wall in blood’.” Dean closed his laptop.  
  
“Huh. You thinking it’s a possession?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Could be. No harm in checking it out, the place is only about a forty-five minute drive from here.”  
  
Sam nodded his head, thinking. “You go check it out, and I’ll stay here. The Kurosawa’s were pretty influential back in the day, so it could take me a while to find which family was into dark magic.”  
  
“Nah, you go. All you ever do is research. How ‘bout I do the heavy lifting this time and you stretch your giant legs?”  
  
Sam tried protesting, but Dean insisted. “This doesn’t sound like a two-man job, plus it could just be a typical, psycho killing spree. Go. I’ll call if I find out anything.”  
  
Sam conceded and left within fifteen minutes. Dean rubbed his forehead, mentally preparing himself for the arduous task of wading through hundreds of results on the Kurosawa’s. Sam wasn’t lying when he said they were influential; their line extended back before feudal Japan, and some had even earned royal credentials. Dean narrowed out a vast majority of the results since he only needed to find those who were alive during the 1500’s. Things got a little messy at that point since most of the records he needed were interred at libraries in Japan and hadn’t been scanned yet. So he kept looking.  
  
After what felt like hours, Dean stood up and walked around the Study to try and clear his mind. His head swam and his eyesight was blurry from looking at small print for so long. He checked his phone to see if Sam had left any messages. Nothing yet. _Huh. He’s been gone for a while now. Wonder what the kid’s gotten himself into now?_ It was only 7:30 PM, but Dean chuckled softly as he thought of the possible (attractive) things his little brother could be getting into. Sitting back down, his long fingers traced across the track pad, scrolling through more web results. Something suddenly caught his eye mid-scroll. The words “Kurosawa Massacre” were highlighted in a result that Dean had somehow overlooked.  
  
“Well that looks like somthin’.” Dean clicked on the link.  
  
He scanned through the page, his expression quickly turning from mildly interested to deeply concerned. He grabbed the first pen and piece of paper he could find, scribbling furiously. When he finished reading the page, Dean dug out his phone from his pocket and started to text Sam. “Kurosawa’s were creepy and into dark stuff. Finish up and ge-”  
_WHACK! Thud_  
  
~~~~~  
  
Sam got to the little town of Dual Rivers without any trouble. He drove straight up to the Loggins’s house and parked the Impala in front of the curb. Flashing his fake FBI badge to the officers stationed at the front door got him inside the average-looking house without any protestations. He stepped through the door and into a long hallway with a neat, tidy mud room to the left. Sam looked around and noticed the walls were lined with family photos. He recognized Kimmy standing between her parents on the beach in one of them; in another she was wearing a white graduation cap and gown while hugging her mom. Sam frowned, pitying that such a happy family could be destroyed so fast. Like so many others before.  
  
A large, stocky man with a well-trimmed beard stepped out from the room at the end of the hall. He reached Sam in just a few short steps and then held out his hand. “Sheriff Harker, Papen County police.”  
  
Sam shook his hand and said,“Agent Seger. The FBI wanted me to come and check in on the Loggins case. You got anything so far?”  
  
Worry lines crinkled on the sheriff’s forehead. “Nothing definitive, unfortunately. No one’s seen Kimmy yet, and we were just about to clean up the walls. Here, I’ll show you.” He lead Sam down the hall. It opened up into a large, spacious family room. More family pictures lined the tan walls. A brown leather couch and chair were arranged in front of a large flatscreen tv. Several police officers and forensic scientists were scrutinizing everything, wearing vinyl gloves and carrying little plastic bags. Most were huddled around dark, brown-ish red blotches on the cream-colored carpet in front of the couches, but a photographer was occupied with taking pictures of the left wall. Strange symbols drawn in blood filled up the entire wall, all of various sizes. Sam recognized most of them as Enochian sigils, a few were warding spells commonly used by witches, but a few even he didn’t recognize.  
  
“Never would have suspected Kimmy to be part of any cults. I always thought she was a clean kid. Guess I was wrong,” Harker gruffly said, waving a hand at the wall.  
  
“Was there anything going on at home, any fights with her parents?” Sam asked.  
  
“Nah, her folks were good people. Never even got a speeding ticket.” He sighed. “They sure loved that girl. What a shame they had to go like that.”  
  
Looking over the wall something near the floor caught Sam’s eye in a dark corner. He squatted down and peered at it, trying to make out what it was. After a moment, he recognized the symbol. His face slackened and his body went cold.  
  
The Mark of Cain.  
  
Brushed beneath it in small, bloody writing was a message: “ _We’ll be waiting for you, Sam_.”  
  
Sam quickly stood up, dizzy from both standing up so fast and the message. He stumbled for the phone in his pocket. Dean hadn’t texted anything. Sam swallowed hard and tried to keep his breathing normal. Sheriff Harker stared concernedly at him. “You okay there, agent?”  
  
Sam gave a weak smile. “Uh, yeah. I, uh, just need to make a quick call. Thank you, sheriff. I’ll keep in touch.” It took all of Sam’s willpower not to start running out of the house.  
  
As soon as Sam started the Impala, he tried calling Dean. “C’mon, Dean. Pick up...” Sam’s thumb drummed impatiently against the steering wheel. It went straight to Dean’s voicemail. Frustrated, Sam dropped his phone onto the leather seat. The Impala’s engine roared as he pressed down on the accelerator. He could get back to the bunker in less than half an hour.  
  
But that could be too late.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Dean noticed was the pounding headache in the back of his head. He attempted to feel the goose egg that had formed, only to discover that his hands were tied. Blearily opening his eyes, Dean stared up at the Study’s ceiling. Someone had laid him down on one of the tables with his wrists tied and extending out from him. For some reason his legs had been left free. Dean tried struggling, but the scratchy ropes only dug deeper into his wrists. He arched his head back to try and look behind him. There was only his laptop and a lamp on the opposite table. A dark, creeping feeling had settled into his chest again. The same feeling he got every time he got close to...  
  
“Hello Dean.”  
  
Dean jerked his head towards the doorway, but no one was there. The lights then flickered for several seconds, and when they turned on again a petite figure had appeared. Dean’s chest constricted and his stomach turned to ice. In the shadows of the doorway, the outline of horns rose up from its head.  
  
The _hannya_ had returned.  
  
Limp hands hung at its side, fingertips brushing against worn out jeans. Long, tousled brown hair hung past the sagging shoulders. It didn’t take long for Dean to figure out who the girl was. The body of Kimmy Loggins was now just a puppet for the _hannya_.  
  
The lights flickered again. The figure disappeared. Dean blinked. When he opened his eyes it was now only ten feet away from him. He couldn’t help but jump back despite the ropes. He also noticed that the girl’s clothes were splattered with blood, as well as her hands and forearms.  
  
“Holy -”  
  
The _hannya_ held one blood-stained finger towards Dean, silencing him. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.” A hollow, youthful voice came from behind the mask. It took slow, graceful steps towards the table. “You know that I’d never hurt you. At least,” the mask cocked its head, “not permanently.” The painted mouth twisted into a malicious grin.  
  
Dean glared at the mask looming closer to his face. Disregarding the consequences to such a stupid action, he landed a hard kick into the girl’s midriff, forcing the demon back a few steps. For a brief moment Dean thought it looked stunned that he actually attempted to attack it, but then he felt its eyes on him. Those all-seeing, voids of hatred that always followed his every move. Of all its grotesque features, the eyes scared Dean the most. As their eyes connected the Mark burned white-hot. Dean grimaced from the pain and dropped his head back onto the table. _Dammit, where’s Sam?_  
  
The _hannya_ straightened up and contemplated Dean, as if recollecting its thoughts. Then the voice said harshly, “Everything will go much... smoother if you put up less of a fight, Dean.” In three quick steps it was standing over Dean again. It pushed up the long flannel sleeve on Dean’s right arm. Cold fingers brushed down his exposed forearm, circling around the raised, scarlet Mark. It said much more softly, almost soothingly, “It is always an honor to be in the presence of Cain’s Mark. It has been a very, very long time...” The voice trailed off.  
  
Dean stared up at the mask, confused and worried. A thousand questions burned in his mind. The _hannya_ realized it had lost focus and turned its attention back to Dean. “But that does not matter right now. What does matter is this,” It reached into the back pocket of Kimmy’s jeans and pulled out a small knife with a flat edge on one side and curved on the other. Dean barely made out small Japanese characters scratched across the dull metal blade. The _hannya_ rubbed a delicate finger across its edge to test the sharpness and then brought it close to Dean’s cheek. Past the row of bared teeth, Dean could see Kimmy’s lips begin to move, whispering some Japanese incantation.  
  
Before he could react the _hannya_ flicked the knife across his cheekbone. Still muttering, it let the blood run down onto the blade. The girl straightened up and began slowly rubbing two fingers in the blood in circular motions. After a few moments she brushed those fingers down the mask, starting at the forehead and ending at the point of its chin. The mask lifted its face up towards the ceiling light and breathed in slowly, as if basking in the warm sun, and then let out a long, slow exhale. It sounded content and Dean didn’t want to know why. He wanted nothing more than to salt and burn the damn thing. He also tried to fight off the sudden urge to break free from the ropes and rip the _hannya_ ’s throat apart with his bare hands. Recognizing that this was only the Mark trying to take control, Dean instead focused on the stinging cut on his cheek.  
  
“You know what that spell does, Dean?” It cooed, turning its attention back on him. “It’s a blood seal that links you with me forever, or until I choose to be done with you.” The _hannya_ leaned in closer and whispered, “And believe me when I say that will never happen.” The mask had never looked more pleased with itself, nor more disturbing with Dean’s blood soaking into the dry wood.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, “Stop rambling on like a B-level Bond villain and get to the point.” He was about to continue throwing insults at the demon, when the darkness creeping at the back of his mind flooded through his entire body. Rage and contempt, emotions he normally could keep in check, erupted in his chest. Dean recoiled from it, yet he still felt like he was suffocating under the weight of this new evil. By now he had gotten used to how the Mark made him feel, but this was an alien presence worming its way through him. Trying not to panic, he glared at the demon. It said nothing and only stood there, waiting. Soon everything went dark...  
  
_... Dean found himself in a dark, poorly-lit room. Piles of scrolls lined one of the walls, while the others were left bare. Two shapes were huddled around a black candle in the middle of the room with their backs away from Dean. He recognized her long, shimmering black hair contrasting against her white and gold kimono. Dean tried taking a few steps to catch a glimpse of the other person, a man with short, greying hair, but he couldn’t. Darkness swirled inside of him, flashes of hatred and power nearly blinding him. Trying to stave off these emotions, Dean focused on what they were saying, which was pointless considering it was all in Japanese. But the man’s voice sounded familiar..._  
  
The _hannya_ ’s memories suddenly stopped. Dean gasped and then scowled. “You... You were working with Cain?” He asked through clenched teeth. The mask cocked its head without answering. Suddenly Dean felt white-hot, stabbing pains throughout his skull. He felt the _hannya_ sort through his memories: _fixing up the Impala, the smell of his mom’s raisin and oatmeal cookies baking, receiving the Mark from Cain, Metatron stabbing him, the cold emptiness of his death, opening his black eyes for the first time..._ A low growl formed at the back of Dean’s throat as he felt his life and memories be violated by the demon. He struggled at the ropes again, but that only made the _hannya_ chuckle softly.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Sam had raced down the Bunker’s stairs when he heard Dean cry out and hurled himself at Kimmy’s body when he entered the Study. Right before his shoulder could make contact with her torso, however, he was tossed back onto one of the pillars. The _hannya_ whipped its face around to stare at him, snarling like a wild animal.  
  
“Sam. It took you long enough to show up. I was beginning to think you missed my note, but I’m glad you could make it. Things were just getting interesting, too.”  
  
Pinned against the hard pillar, Sam scowled down at the petite figure. “Why didn’t our spell work on you? Webber’s notes said that...”  
  
“Marcus Webber was a fool,” the _hannya_ scoffed. “He was never very good at Japanese, let alone archaic exorcisms. His so-called ‘banishment spell’ was merely a releasing spell. Very similar in concept, but vastly different results. When he performed his adorable little ritual, same as you, all he did was free me from my mask.” It scoffed. “The first thing I did after being released was posses the egotistical child. I only released him upon learning that Cain had passed the mark onto his progeny. So I tracked you two down, using some very complicated and... _messy_ spells, I must say, and arranged for my mask to be delivered on your doorstep. After that, I abandoned Webber’s dead body in a ditch.”  
  
Sam and Dean shared the same worried expression. Sam swallowed hard and Dean glowered at the mask. “You said you wanted the Mark. Why?”  
  
“Because Cain promised it to me!” The _hannya_ screeched. The lights flickered and both Winchesters flinched from sharp pain that ran through their bodies. Dean’s right arm burned and darkness clouded his sight for a brief moment. Startled and confused, Sam looked over at Dean disbelieving. Dean nodded his head.  
  
Kimmy’s hands clenched and unclenched several times before her hollow voice answered, “Cain wandered the earth for many years.” Pride entered its voice as it continued. “Word of my experiments with demons and dark magic must have reached him. We spent so much time together back then, he my wise master and I his devoted pupil.” The demon sounded wistful.  
  
“So you were lovers?” Sam asked.  
  
“Of course not!” The demon spat out. Dean winced from its disgust that ran through his body. “I am not so weak as to be blinded with such emotions. What I wanted was his power, to be his equal. I asked Cain to let me become one of his Knights of Hell. After several months he finally relented and promised me something even better. Giving me his mark. I was ecstatic. However, my husband...”  
  
“He thought you and Cain were getting too close, and Mister Creepy-Face got jealous.” Dean finished for her. He then yelped as the _hannya_ twisted its hand at him, his stomach feeling like ice shards were tearing it apart.  
  
“Do not interrupt me,” it snarled. “But yes. He and his guards attacked Cain in the middle of the night and forced him out of our estate before I could receive the Mark. I tried to stop my husband, but in his jealous rage he attacked me. With his sword he gave me scars all across my face. And for that, I later killed him. I killed everyone in the household. With their blood I tried summoning Cain so I could receive what was promised to me. But he never came. The priests found me covered in my husband’s blood and learned of what I had done. As punishment, they sacrificed me at their shrine and locked my spirit away in this mask. I believe you read about that, Dean, in your research.”  
  
Sam, disgusted the whole time the hannya had been talking, glanced over at Dean to confirm what it had said. Dean frowned and nodded. “And you’d still be locked up if Webber hadn’t gone and woken you up. Why drag Kimmy into all of this?”  
  
Dean shifted his hip towards his left hand. If only he could reach into his pocket and pull out his pocket knife...  
  
The _hannya_ sighed, exasperated. “I wanted a younger body to come after you. The girl just happened to be at the right place at the right time for me.”  
  
Sam saw what Dean was trying to do and continued, “So what, her parents were in the way? Or you just get a kick out of killing innocent people?” The _hannya_ looked away from Dean and turned its cold smile towards the taller Winchester. Dean hurried and got his hip as close to his hand as physically possible. _Almost..._  
  
“Well, it had been so long since I had had any fun. And oh, Sammy, how they did scream!” Its hollow dark eyes somehow turned blacker with delight at this memory as it stepped closer to him. Sam tried not to gag as the stench of sulfur and rotted flesh hit emitted from the mask, and he feebly tried to free himself from the pillar. “Plus I had to do something to get you out of the way so I could have Dean all to myself. And now that your brother’s blood is mine, I will finally have control over the Mark. I will possess Dean, and you won’t be able to stop me.” Bloodied fingers traced down his neck and loosened his striped tie. The _hannya_ then proceeded to unbutton the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt. “But before all that, I have a little something planned for you, Sam.” The demon sounded far too pleased with itself. Gliding over to Dean, it flicked Kimmy’s wrist and his ropes fell to the floor. Stunned yet ever the expert hunter, Dean slid off the table and reached for his gun. Right as his fingertips brushed against the cool metal, his whole body went slack. He couldn’t move. He stared at the _hannya_ and then over at Sam. _I don’t like this,_ he thought. Suddenly his left foot stepped forward. And then his right. As he moved forward, Dean’s hand grabbed the pocketknife and raised it.  
  
Right at Sam’s throat.  
  
“What’s goin’ on?” Dean demanded, swallowing down the panic rising inside of him. Sam tried to get away, but his movements were just as pointless as Dean’s resistance.  
  
The _hannya_ responded in a cool voice, “Blood seal, remember? I can make you do whatever I want. Consider this as a last farewell for the two of you before I completely take control. You can now finally feel what it’s like to kill you baby brother, Dean.”  
  
Sam was now only a few feet away.  
  
“Dean, you can fight this! She doesn’t have complete control, you can take it back!” Sam’s wide, anxious eyes never looked away from his brother.  
  
“I don’t know if I can, Sammy!” Dean was so close now...  
  
“Yes you can! Just do it, NOW!”  
  
Dean stopped right in front of Sam. His hand slowly raised above his head. He couldn’t get the _hannya_ ’s laughter from out of his head... The Mark felt like hellfire...  
  
_I’m so sorry, Sammy._  
  
“Dean, no!”  
  
_THUD_  
  
Sam forced his eyes open, confused. Somehow he was still alive. Dean’s knife had somehow missed. _Well that’s unexpected._ Sam looked up and saw the silver knife lodged into the wood mere centimeters above his head with Dean’s hand still gripped around its handle. Sam looked at his brother, but was met with a blank, darkened expression. Sam had seen that look before... It was the same expression of carnal power Dean had had after he cut off Magnus’s head with the First Blade.  
  
“Dean...?” Sam asked cautiously.  
  
Hearing his little brother’s voice interrupted whatever dark thoughts Dean had been lost in. He jerked his head back and blinked rapidly before he nodded at Sam, reassuring him. “Yeah, I’m good.” He yanked the knife out of the pillar and then turned to face the _hannya_. For once, the mask looked shocked. Kimmy’s hands were shaking, whether out of fear or indignation, Dean really didn’t care.  
  
“H-how.. How are you doing that?” The now-faint voice wavered.  
  
Taking slow, calculated step towards the _hannya_ , Dean snarled, “Your little parlor trick didn’t work on me, that’s how.” His knife shone bright in his firm, steady hand. “Cuz you see, I’ve got the Mark of Cain. And neither one of us like being told what to do.”  
  
With that, Dean lunged at Kimmy’s chest with his knife. The demon dropped to the left so the knife only grazed against its right shoulder. Dean loomed over Kimmy’s body on the floor. Any thoughts or emotions he felt coming from the demon were flooded with the rage and power of the Mark. He didn’t bother fighting it this time. He was almost enjoying himself.  
  
Dean lifted up his foot, planning on stomping down hard on the _hannya_. Seizing its opportunity, a swift kick to his standing leg knocked Dean to down the demon’s level. It pulled out another knife from behind and flung itself towards Dean, the dull blade slashing dangerously close to his throat. He managed to grab hold of her wrist, dropping his own knife. They began to wrestle and roll around on the floor, knocking into chairs and knocking over a bookcase. Finally, the _hannya_ straddled on top of him, pinning his arms down with her knees. Out of breath, it lifted up the knife with both hands and aimed it at Dean’s chest. “I don’t need you alive, Dean. I just need your body,” it hissed. Right as it was about to plunge its knife into Dean’s heart, arms gripped around Kimmy’s shoulders and yanked her up.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Sam said through clenched teeth. While they were struggling on the floor, the _hannya_ ’s mental hold on Sam had weakened. The demon struggled in his arms, kicking and rolling its head back trying to stab Sam in the eye with one of its horns. Dean stood up and ripped the mask off of Kimmy’s face. The teenager’s pale face was twisted with shock and rage, trails of dried blood coming out of the corners of her eyes. Dean glared into those eyes and said, “Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get a piece of this sweet, sweet ass.”  
  
Anger quickly gave way to terror as she watched Dean throw the _hanna_ onto the floor and stomp on it repeatedly with his heavy boot. The first time his foot came down a loud _crack!_ emanated throughout the room, splitting the mask clean down the middle. With the second time one of the horns fell off. The demon cried out in pain and writhed in Sam’s arms. On the third and final blow the mask’s hollow eyes shattered apart. The _hannya_ now lay in splinters. The alien presence in Dean's mind dissipated.  
  
The demon stared down at the remnants of its former self, stunned and visibly weakened. Kimmy’s shoulders started to tremble, and her bloodshot eyes turned up at him full of pure, unadulterated loathing. “Fine,” chapped lips finally whispered. “You may have broken my mask, but I’m still claiming what is rightfully mine.” With a strength and speed that caught both Winchesters off guard, she freed herself from Sam’s grip and hurled Dean back on to the table. She threw her head back and opened her mouth. Dean watched in horror as black smoke started to emerge. Suddenly Kimmy’s skin flashed gold and red. Sam’s face appeared from over her shoulder as he dug Ruby’s knife deeper into her back. He tossed Kimmy’s lifeless body onto the floor, his chest heaving. Neither Winchester moved, panting for a few moments. Finally Sam broke the silence.  
  
“How about we just burn the mask this time?”  
  
~~~  
  
It was close to 5:00 AM. The sun wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, so the stars shone clear and bright in the sky. A welcome, cool breeze wafted past the two hunters as they stood in front of the pyre. Two bodies wrapped in old sheets erupted into flames, sending sparks out into the night. After they took care of Kimmy’s body and swept up every piece of the hannya, they checked local morgues for any recent John Doe’s. Sure enough, the body of a man close to his nineties had been found lying in a ditch a few days before. The next morning when the coroner came in to work, the old man had mysteriously disappeared. Marcus Webber was finally laid to rest next to poor Kimmy. The mask had burned up long ago.  
  
“Hey Sammy.”  
  
“Yeah, Dean?” The younger Winchester looked over at his brother. Sam still remembered the dark look on Dean’s face. Even with the _hannya_ gone, they hadn’t come any closer to ridding themselves of the Mark.  
  
“I think I’m gonna avoid sushi for the next few months.”  
  
A smiled tugging at his mouth, Sam whacked Dean’s arm playfully. They stood there together until the first rays of light broke over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected more than just two people to ever see this, let alone have so much positivity and support with SO MANY notes, kudos, etc.!!!! Know that every time I see any kind of activity for this I melt into a puddle of fan-girlish squees and giggle. Thank you so very much for even looking at this. And for those of you who made it to this last chapter you are wonderful and amazing! This has certainly been a new, fun experience for me, and you all made it just fantastic ^_^


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